


Blood For Blood (bright like stars)

by Hopetohell



Category: Hellraiser (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Blood and Gore, Bodily Fluids, Body Horror, Gore, Hooks, Oral Sex, Piercing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:27:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29919627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Mike came backwrong.
Relationships: Mike (Hellraiser)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

_Hey there, gorgeous_ is the leadup; it’s the honeyed trap, it’s the jaws of the beast that you don’t see closing til he’s got you because he has a face like an angel and a mind like sin and he is gonna absolutely wreck you. 

And it’s _Mike,_ right? Goofy, sweet Mike who once took you stargazing at the dam and ate you out behind the turbine towers, Mike who brought you peonies on your birthday, Mike who disappeared without a fucking trace for years and when he came back— when he came back, he came back _wrong._

He came back with his heart carved out and in its place there was a box, a little wooden box like a treasure, like a puzzle, and its name was _Lament._ And inside the box— inside the box— _well._ He’s gonna show you. 

He’s all leather and steel when you see him, all winter-cold and _wanna see something that’ll blow your mind?_ And he reaches through the darkness, through points of pain bright like stars, and he threads the hooks through your flesh. And 

_Mike? What— what is this?_

_It’s beautiful, babe. It’s all the pain and ecstasy you ever needed. I learned so much while I was gone, and I’m going to show you everything. Hold still, hold still, accept this gift_

(Bright like stars)

_And I will pull you tight, so tight. Open your legs now, there you go. Open up, I know. I know it hurts. It’s supposed to hurt. There’s no growth without pain, babe._ And his hands are cold between your legs, cold and terrible and all sharp nails, bright little pinpricks of pain that flare out into bright- white agony when he passes delicate pointed hooks through your folds, when he draws the chains tight and wraps them round your legs to hold you open, helplessly exposed and little threads of blood are trickling down your thighs;

( _This is a gift)_

Your hands are twisting helpless overhead and soon your shoulders will give way; soon your feet will rest flat on the floor again because your shoulders will be all out of joint, distended by gravity and the weight of flesh, by the weight of his gaze heavy on you. And when he smiles it’s bright, it’s innocent, it’s _Mike,_ and his teeth are so very sharp. And _it hurts, it hurts, I know. I know. Rebirth is growth is change is pain and you will thank me for this. When I found myself on the other side, babe, I felt the same. I screamed, I cried, I bled for them over and over until the lesson took hold, until pain gave way to joy and babe. Babe. I’m gonna take your tears and your blood and make you into something wonderful._

And Mike’s fingers plunging into you are so unkind; in the act lies the echo of better days but his knuckles catch upon the hooks and his nails are sharp and ragged; when he bites at your lips he tastes of blood and ash, of old cigarettes and earth, of stones, but his tongue is hot and thick and searching. Maybe it’s the only part of him with any warmth at all now; maybe the box has burst him open and taken every crumb of who he was. 

Or maybe not; when he withdraws his hand to lick the blood from his knuckles there’s that little lift to his brow that says _mischief_ and maybe, maybe— 

(What’s left when all the stars go out?)  
 _  
Mike, I never wanted—_

_(To lose you? To let you go? To see you come back?)_

_I know. I know. And that’s alright. Just open up and take it._ And he peels your mouth so wide and pins your lips apart with hooks, with shining silver (bright like stars), and when next he bends to you it’s to pull the breath from your lungs and leave his blood behind, caught on silver points and beading bright against his skin. _Blood for blood._

Blood for blood but there’s more, isn’t there: the final insult ( _the final gift, babe, don’t be crude. This is all for you),_ the way he draws his cock free and strokes himself to hardness, and he is all silver beads and rings down the length of it, all texture and pain and _you won’t believe how good it feels._ He is slick and shining and he shoves himself inside. 

( _Accept this gift; it’s all I have to give. Let me leave this piece of me behind, a thread, breadcrumbs in the darkness, let it lead me home_ )

And he was right although you hate it; he was right though all of this is wrong, and though you cry and drool through lips that can’t be closed there, too, is moisture smearing through your folds, threads of blood diluting pink, shining silver slicked with need and Mike finds himself hooked and held, pinned to you by barbed points through his most delicate flesh, linked like beasts, and how he keens with pleasure and with pain (and here, for him, they both run into one another). 

Here he thrusts in deep and holds you close with hands beneath your thighs; here he whispers one tiny, precious secret in your ear and _pretend you never heard it, when they come for me I’ll show them blood and pain and I know, I know, it hurts. It hurts and it’s so beautiful, can’t you feel all that weakness and sorrow slipping free? Can’t you feel the pulse of blood to blood_

(Of shadows in the long hall, of open skies and they are coming, they are coming for their boy)

And when he comes he can’t withdraw; he’s bound to you by hook and chain, by this prison of his making, and so he stands and shakes with tiredness; here he keeps you filled til he softens and semen slips between your folds, liquefied, to fetch up sticky in his hair. And for a moment he is tired and small until he shoves it back, until his teeth shine red with a kiss that tears his lips, until he takes and holds a single breath before pulling free. 

And here Mike stands with curls in disarray, with bloodied lips and bloodied thighs, with all his fine delicate flesh torn ragged from your coupling, forcing his breathing into order and though he doesn’t set you free he cuts you down; he nearly speaks but bites his bloody lips and leaves. He leaves and he is gone;

(Not quite)

He leaves and all that’s left is blood and pain and tears that shine

(so bright like stars)


	2. Bright Like Stars (the pleasure remix)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the piercings but without the noncon.

Listen. We’ve had the pain, we’ve had the torment, now let’s have a little story about pleasure. Let’s change your stars, change Mike’s stars, and make of him a bright and beautiful thing; let’s walk all of this back not to the beginning (after all, the struggle is part of it; every shining bit of silver is the product of who he’s become and where he’s been), but to somewhere in the middle. 

Let’s take the story back to _hey there gorgeous_ and this time it’s a line cast in your direction, hopeful and hungry. It’s Mike in leather and shadow, scratching at his stubbled jaw and if he is a little leaner and a little colder it’s only because he’s been to hell and back. 

_Hey there, yourself. Where the hell have you been?_

_Exactly._

And it’s been a while but his flesh is so familiar, blood calling to blood; he wears sorrow like an old shirt and when he reaches for you there’s a little bit of _something_ in the lift of his brow, something that wasn’t there before. And here in this back alley he could be a predator; he could be a terrible and violent thing, but he won’t be, because this isn’t that kind of story. 

This is the kind of story where to see him is curiosity and relief; he’s been gone so long and his voice is fuzzed and scratchy (when he sings it’s no longer choirboy-clear but just a little hoarse and smoky; it’s a voice that sings a yearning song, that winds its arms around you and frees you from your clothes). This is the kind of story where he leads you through the darkness and you follow; it’s a story where he makes his bed in an a room gone white with dust, where his hands on you are firm and in your ear you hear him whisper 

_Kneel._

And there’s that hoarseness in his voice again that comes from years of screaming, but he won’t tell you that. Not til later, not til the nightmares wake him and he’s hunched over the windowsill with moonlight in his hair. But for now he says _I need to lead, so will you follow?_ And all the thoughts of years gone by, all the parties where he held court with ease and laughter, all the hours of grieving, all the slow steps toward brighter days, and all the emptiness of his sudden disappearance all coalesce into a single shining word.   
_  
Yes._

And once upon a time he would’ve liked to see his zipper in your teeth but there’s a hushed and holy air to this; he threads his fingers through your hair so carefully it’s like he isn’t there and _just a little harder, Mike, come on, I want to feel you._ And when you get him free there’s silver laddered down his shaft; his cock is lined with bars and beads and a ring passed through the tip. And his face above is tight with need; his expression’s fuzzy through the focus that's commanded by his cock, by the sudden burning need to feel it all. 

_Hey babe, remember when_ he says, and it’s a midnight bell; it’s a call to worship and so he lays his silver on your tongue. He tastes of metal and salt and skin, all ridges and bumps and _Christ,_ just think about the way he’d slip inside you, catching at your rim and _babe. You won’t believe how good it feels._

_For you or me?_

_For both of us. Now take me deep and then I’ll fuck you after._ And he moans and gasps through all the motion of him in you; like this he steals your breath and stoppers up your throat; he is deep and fierce and his hands are tightening in your hair without his knowledge; all of him is narrowed down to this, to the nerves that tug and spark against the beads all down his cock, that climb his laddered piercings like a vine. And he pulses hard, so close, so close, but pulls out with a heaving gasp because

_Babe, I promised, didn’t I? I’m gonna show you._

And when he throws you to the bed there’s strength he shouldn’t have; he follows fierce and fast behind and grins to see the spit all smeared across your face; he licks your cheek and there he is, your Mike, playful like he used to be, and if his smile is sharp it’s only because he’s been away so long. And there he is with eyes so bright like stars; he’s pulsing hard and grips his spit-slick length. 

_Lemme get you off,_ he says. _You still like it, don’t you? Being carried through it and beyond?_ And there’s his kiss so wet and open; there’s the barbell in his tongue; it’s the first kiss since he left and it’s electric like a shock. _I know_ he says against your lips, so soft. _These aren’t the only parts of me like this. They’re just the parts that I can show to you right now. But if you stay with me, I’ll show you everything. Now open up your legs and let me in._

This _could_ be the moment where he bites at you, where he works fingers and toes into all your little cracks and pries you open; this could be the moment where he turns your pleasure into pain— if this were that kind of story. But it isn’t. So instead this is the part where rapture finds you, where he clicks his barbell soft against his teeth and grins, where he hooks you open on his thumbs and tastes your need. _So beautiful_ he says against your flesh; _so needy and so sweet. And mine._ Even though the metal’s warm like blood it feels so cold, sparking icy flames along your nerves; the knowledge of it wraps around your mind and drives you toward the edge, toward release that’s not an end and not a pause because when he makes you come he doesn’t stop. 

He licks until you’re screaming through it, til every motion draws a wet and ragged gasp, and then _I promised I would show you and I will._ Mike goes so slow; he rests the very tip of his cock between your folds, unmoving, with control you never thought he’d have; he grits his teeth and bears the press and squeeze of flesh around him. And he was right, you know; the feel of metal in his flesh is something else, arresting and insistent, catching on your rim in little jumps and judders as he enters you with care. 

And when he’s fully in you, when he’s buried to the root, his kiss is deep. He tastes like metal and like _you,_ like ocean depths and icy winds, like tears that spatter hot across your face. And _Mike? Are you alright?_

_It’s just. I’ve been away so long. And babe, the things I’ve seen— the things I’ve done— I want to tell you but I don’t know how._

_Then don’t. Not yet. Just lay with me and later if you want to talk we’ll talk._ It’s good enough for now, at least, and gets him moving once again; he’s rolling deep and dirty into you, slow and sweet and hissing when he feels the clenching of your walls, when your need is building higher once again. And so he slows and makes of this a torment; he slows til every bead and barbell makes itself separately known. 

_Oh, beautiful_ he says. _So good for me. So sweet. I’ve missed you, how I’ve missed you. When the nights were long, and I thought the pain would tear me down—_ and it’s nearly a confession, nearly an admission of the truth, of where he’s been, but though it’s heavy on his mind he isn’t ready. So he thrusts in deep and sharp and with his kiss the circle closes; with this he comes inside and rests his head upon your chest. 

And here we are again with semen sticky on your thighs, but this time he’s there beside you as your fingers move so careful up his shaft, as you memorize the feel of all that metal and you’re right. It felt so good. And listen. _Listen. Mike. I’m glad you’re here. I missed you and I really hope you’ll stay._ And though he doesn’t speak he smiles, and in the night his eyes are bright like stars.


End file.
